The Chosen Mystery
by Ellis Jenkins
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, his long-time friend (Ellison "Edmund" Jenkins) and their flat-mate (Dr Watson) need to solve a case. I'm usually brilliant at summaries, but I haven't decided what the case is! 3 part prologue explaining the friendship of Holmes and Jen. Eventual romance between Holmes and Jen.
1. Prologue 1

After checking no-one was in the corridor, I adjusted the elasticated fabric flattening my breasts, before knocking on the oak door in front of me in case anyone was inside. I turned the rusty key in the lock. When I went in, the room was filled with smoke that maneuvered its way out into the corridor. I looked around as best I could with fogged up glasses.

"Do you smoke like this often?" I asked in the general direction of a shadowed figure.

The figure stood from his seat.

"Yes," he said, a calm, unerring tone to his voice. "Is it a problem?"

"I admit I am not fond of clandinsky ashes," I told him. "But your habit should not be a problem."

I felt his eyes on me.

"How did you recognise what I was smoking?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. "It is a rare ash."

I smiled to myself.

"I know a great deal of things, Mr Holmes," I said vaguely, whilst absently brushing the surface of his desk with my fingers. "For example, I know that you have been a chemistry student at this university for three months," I scanned the room. "And that you are a light sleeper, and a relative of the French artist Vernet, possibly a grandson. Perhaps I won't mention anything else."

I faced my room-mate. He could have almost been a black hawk, with his thin, wiry, black hair, sharp hawk-like features and hooked nose. He was staring, dumbfounded, at me.

"From your reaction, I gather that my analysis is correct." I commented.

"My apologies," Sherlock Holmes replied. "And, yes, you are correct. Vernet was my grandmother's brother. Pray tell, what is your name?"

For a long while, I looked at him.

"Jenkins. Edmund Jenkins."

* * *

Two months passed. Holmes became a very good friend, but he had not yet shown the full extent of his powers. If I remember correctly, the manuscript was reported missing on a Wednesday, so George Windsyne must have been in our rooms on the Friday. The manuscript was the last scene of Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ I had mentioned it to Holmes, as literature was one of my studies. He had, surprisingly taken quite an interest in the matter. I came back late in the afternoon from a lecture on that particular Friday, and found my self in the company of two men instead of one.

"Jen, I'm glad you could make it," Holmes said. "This is one of our neighbours, George Windsyne."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." I said, sitting down.

Windsyne was a very suspicious person, and I knew that Holmes wasn't being neighbourly in inviting him to our rooms.

"I connected him with that Shakespeare manuscript you were so kind to bring my attention to." Holmes explained.

"Oh really?" I asked.

"Yes, he locked himself in his rooms on the day the manuscript went missing; it was a miracle that I managed to get him down here," Holmes told me, not taking his eyes off of our guest. "He has frequently been using age worn paper and ink, as I am certain you have picked up," He looked at me with a smile. "Shall we test my theory?"

"Whyever not?" I asked, returning my friend's smile.

We made our way to Windsyne's rooms, the man in question following, calling out his protests. Holmes and I ignored him, and Holmes opened the unlocked door and took hold of Windsyne's arm. Immediately, I went over to the bookshelf and reached behind it. I felt several sheets of paper, bound together, and pulled them out. Holmes and I turned to our companion.

"How do you explain this?" Holmes asked, still gripping Windsyne's upper arm.

Windsyne hung his head in defeat.

* * *

After handing Windsyne and the manuscript over, Holmes and I strolled across the university grounds.

"Holmes, you did well." I told him.

"You would have gotten it sooner or later." Holmes said.

I shrugged good-naturedly.

"So you really _are_ a master of deductions." I said.

"Yes, did you think I was lying?" Holmes asked.

"No, not at all!" I exclaimed. "I merely had my doubts, having not seen your prowess in action; that is all."

Holmes laughed jovially.

* * *

A/N:

I usually write for the modern BBC adaption, _Sherlock,_ but the books were my first true love!

Also, Jen has to pretend to be a man to fit in and achieve what she wants. Just in case you were confused. Oh, and she's gotten quite good at it over the years! :)

~Ellis~


	2. Prologue 2

It was a Monday morning in February when Holmes discovered me in my... true form. The discovery was through mistakes on both of our parts, but I knew the most fault was mine; I should never have attempted my feat of coming here.

I had fallen asleep reading, the top half of my pale body bare. The next morning, I was woken by Holmes barging into my bedroom.

"You had best wake up, Jen," he loudly said. "Or we will be late for..."

As I sat up, groping around for my spectacle, Holmes stopped speaking. Stunned, he stood just inside the room, his mouth agape, trying to find words to form.

"Holmes, how many times do you have to be asked to knock before entering?" I asked, breaking the fast becoming uncomfortable silence.

Holmes stayed standing, not knowing where to look, eventually attempting to meet my eyes with his, to not let his gaze wonder to my chest. Quite frankly, he failed at both! I took my discovery with grace, as I stood to sift through my drawers. Fortunately for Holmes, I wore trousers whilst sleeping, so I would not embarrass him further. Even though this was the case, he turned his back to me whilst I tightened my bandeau around my chest.

"You mean to say that you didn't know that I was a woman to begin with?" I asked, as I buttoned my shirt.

"No, I did not." Holmes replied, keeping his back to me, not even looking over his shoulder.

As I fastened the front of my waistcoat with one hand, I picked up the book I had been reading and placed it on my bookshelf. Upon hearing my book being replaced, Holmes warily peered over his tartan clad shoulder. When he saw that I was decently covered, he visibly relaxed and turned around. I faced him

"I hope you understand why I had to do this." I said, seriously, changing my voice as I looked at Holmes intensely.

Holmes nodded sharply.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I think I do."

"Good, because, as you were saying, we will be late for breakfast." I said, going to the door.

"I do have one question, Jen." Holmes told me.

"Yes?" I asked, prompting him to go on.

"What is your name?"

"Ellison. Ellison Jenkins."

Before we walked out into the corridor, Holmes stopped.

"This does not change our friendship." he told me.

I smiled at him.

"That is good," I replied. "I am glad."

"And you have my assurances that this will stay between us, and only us." Holmes added.

"I am grateful," I replied. "I can think of no way to thank you."

"You have no reason to repay me," Holmes told me, smiling. "Everyone has aspects of themselves that they wish no other person to have knowledge of. I am no different."

I nodded.

"You speak of your addictions," I said. "Then that will be my repayment. No-one will know unless absolutely necessary."

Holmes nodded, and we left to face the day.

* * *

A/N:

This is short, but it's one of my favourite parts of the prologue!

Also, I really, really appreciate reviews! Even if you're just telling me how amazing you think it is (I know; I'm so modest!) I'd love to hear from you!

Thank you for reading!

~Ellis~


	3. Prologue 3

The day Dr Watson was introduced to Holmes and myself was a landmark day in all of our lives. I had left Holmes in his laboratory doing his experiments, whilst I was in the room below, where I conducted experiments of my own. When I went back upstairs, I expected Holmes to be alone.

"Holmes, I do hope you have had some success, as I..." I started, before noticing Dr Stamford and a new man in the room, and I took my cream and brown top hat off. "My apologies, I do not believe I am acquainted with a man such as yourself."

Holmes span around to greet me with a wild grin upon his face. Such an expression, I knew, indicated success.

"Jen, how good of you to join us! This is Dr Watson, this is my good friend Mr Edmund Jenkins," he jovially announced, introducing me to Dr Watson and vice versa. "Yes, I have had quite some success! I was just about to tell the good doctor here about it."

I walked over and stood to Holmes' right. Holmes took a bodkin from the cluttered work surface in front of us.

"Let us have some fresh blood," Holmes started, digging the bodkin into his finger, before pulling it out and taking the scarlet drop from the end with a pipette. "Now I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction."

And he managed to do just that, laughing in joy once he had done so!

"Remarkable, Holmes, remarkable!" I exclaimed, grinning and clapping my friend on the shoulder. "Congratulations!"

Holmes turned to Dr Watson.

"What do you make of it, good sir?" he asked, clearly expecting a reaction akin to my own, just as clearly not about to get it.

"It seems to be a very delicate test." Dr Watson remarked.

From my brief analysis of the man, I could tell that he was not fully at ease with Holmes. My friend, more than likely too wrapped up in his discovery, had clearly not made this observation.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!" Holmes cried. "The old guaiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well, whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the Earth who would long ago have paid for the penalty of their crimes."

"Indeed!" Dr Watson murmured, either over-whelmed or not interested by Holmes' discovery; I was not quite sure which.

If you are wondering why I have not spoken a great deal, know that I know not to speak once Holmes is in his element!

"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point," Holmes continued. "A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined and brownish stains are discovered upon them. Are blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes test, and there will no longer be any difficulty."

Holmes bowed to an imaginary audience.

"You must be proud of your discovery, Holmes," I told him. "It will considerably better our field of work."

"Indeed! You are to be congratulated." Watson, whom, I now realized, was merely surprised by my friend's enthusiasm, said.

"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfurt last year. He would certainly have been hanged, had this test been in existence," Holmes offered. "Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive."

"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime!" Stamford said with a laugh.

"That he is!" I agreed.

"You might start a paper on those lines," Stamford told Holmes. "Call it the 'Police News of the Past'!"

"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," Holmes remarked, covering the prick on his finger with a small piece of plaster. "I have to be careful," he explained to Dr Watson, turning to him with a smile. "For I dabble with poisons a good deal."

Holmes held his discoloured hand out to the good doctor.

"I, on the other hand, handle chemicals of the more explosive and flammable kind." I added.

"For what reason?" Dr Watson demanded.

"Everyone is inclined to have their interests, are they not?" I replied.

"WE came on business," Stamford told me and Holmes, as he sat on a stool and pushed another towards Dr Watson. "My friend here wants to take diggings and, as you were complaining that you could get no-one to go thirds with you, I thought that I had better bring you together."

Holmes looked to me, and I to him, delight on both of our faces.

"We have our eyes on rooms in Baker Street." I told Dr Watson.

"It would suit us down to the ground," Holmes added. "You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"

"I always smoke ship's, myself." Dr Watson replied.

"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see... What are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don't speak for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for three fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together!"

Dr Watson laughed. I paid close attention to what he had to say.

"I keep a bull pup," he began. "And I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."

Suddenly, Holmes turned anxious.

"Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?" he asked.

Of course! He was (and still is) rather attached to his violin!

"It depends on the player," Dr Watson answered. "A well played violin is a treat for the gods. A Badly played one-"

Holmes and I laughed aloud.

"Oh, that's all right!" he cried.

"He is rather a fine violinist!" I remarked.

"And what of your vices?" Dr Watson asked me.

I thought long and hard about my answer.

"They are quite similar to my friend's," I told him. "You will quickly learn the differences."

"I think we may consider the thing as settled," Holmes announced. "That is, if the rooms are agreeable to you."

"When shall we see them?" Dr Watson asked.

"Call for us here at noon tomorrow, and we'll go together and settle everything." Holmes said.

"All right," Dr Watson agreed. "Noon exactly."

We all shook hands, before he left with Dr Stamford.

"Should we have told him, perhaps?" I asked my friend.

"Never with Stamford in the room," Holmes replied, looking up at me from his chemicals. "Besides, as you rightly said before, he will quickly learn the differences between us."

* * *

A/N:

This is the last of the prologues. As you can probably see, it's basically the initial meeting between Holmes and Watson with Jen added into it.

Also, I probably won't be updating for a while, as I still haven't completed Chapter 1 and I have more fore-front things to update (aka A Private Matter!).

~Ellis~


End file.
